


A Center For The World To Turn

by antumbral



Series: The Sun From Both Sides [1]
Category: Gymnastics RPF, Olympics RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Breathplay, D/S subtext, Fisting, Kink, M/M, Power Dynamics, Self Confidence Issues, negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antumbral/pseuds/antumbral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Most of them lead lives of unquiet desperation, continually seeking... a center for their worlds to turn on.”<br/>~David Dempsey</p><p>“It’s the pressure, isn’t it?” Jon says, not even sure that Sasha is listening. “You like it when somebody can make you do things, and you don’t have to think about it, there’s no pressure.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Center For The World To Turn

Jon finds him in the gym, a solitary figure in silhouette on pommel. The lights are on an automatic timer and won’t come on for another three hours, so it’s just the emergency lighting – red and blues alien over pale skin - that lets him see the slip, the hard fall, the slumped shoulders and set jaw as he climbs back on and repeats the set from the beginning.

Jon watches him run the routine eight times before he steps in. “Enough,” he says after a successful dismount. “You’re gonna hurt yourself, and that won’t do anybody any good.” 

Sasha turns to him, gaunt face and shadowed eyes. Jon can’t see more than outlines in the dim light: ridge of cheekbone, cut of muscle across shoulders from collarbone to bicep. “I know what they’re saying,” Sasha says. “That I don’t hit when it counts.”

“And you won’t if you wear yourself out like this,” says Jon, no remorse when he sees Sasha flinch. 

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be up there. I won’t be Morgan, Jon, I _can’t_ , and that’s all they want to –“

“Shut up.” Jon hurtles the words at him, and Sasha’s chin jerks up, fighting stance. “You will be what you have to be for this team, understand that? I don’t want excuses, I don’t want pity. This team needs you, and you will be a big enough person to step up and take it.”

Sasha turns away. “I don’t have anything to give you, Sasha,” Jon says, and watches carefully as his shoulders straighten almost imperceptibly. “You want me to tell you we don’t need you to be perfect? We do. You need to be fucking perfect, and I need to be fucking perfect, because none of the other guys can carry the team. Paul could, and Morgan could, but we don’t have them anymore. You and I are the only ones left, so we’re going to take it, and we’re going to do this thing. You will be perfect, because you have to be.”

“I don’t want this.”

“I don’t either. Tough beans.” That gets the crack of a smile.

“Tough _beans?_ ” 

“It’s a Texas thing,” says Jon defensively. 

“ _Beans_ are tougher in Texas?”

Jon rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond, but Sasha’s smiling again and things are easier between them. “Justin was frantic,” he says, because there won’t be a better time to bring it up. The smile disappears.

“Jon, don’t start –“

“I wasn’t going to. But you shouldn’t disappear like that. He worries.”

“And that’s bad for the team,” Sasha says flatly.

“No, that’s bad for _Justin_ , and he’s my friend. Jesus, pull your head out of your ass.”

“You don’t get to tell me that,” Sasha flashes back at him, stepping forward into a slash of red light, breathing hard, eyes hot. “You don’t get to tell me what this team needs, and you don’t get to tell me how to handle Justin.”

Jon draws himself up a little tighter, refusing to be intimidated. “Back down, Sasha.”

“No.” Instead he steps forward again, and Jon doesn’t like where this is headed. Sasha wants a fight, but he won’t feel any better if someone gives it to him. He’ll just wake up bruised in the morning, and the team will still need him to be better than he’s ever been before. The violence might feel good, but it won’t solve anything.

“Back. Down,” says Jon, and puts a hand out behind him to check the location of the pommel. Sasha laughs darkly, shakes his head, and Jon gets lucky: he sees the punch coming in time. Sasha may be strong, but no one’s ever taught him to fight, and he telegraphs with his feet when he’s about to move. Jon grabs his arm and uses the momentum to pull him forwards and shove him against the pommel, twisting his arm up behind to keep him pinned there. 

It takes a few minutes of silent struggle before Sasha grows still, panting against the leather of the horse. 

“Can’t stand it, can you?” Sasha whispers, but it might as well be a shout in the absolute silence of the gym. “Always gotta be top dog, Horton. Can’t stand it that somebody might not fall in line.”

It hits a little close to home, and even though it’s petty, Jon retaliates by wrenching his arm up higher. 

Sasha practically giggles. “What, want me to roll over for you too? Okay.” His voice drops by about an octave, and he gives what can only be described as an undulation back against Jon’s body. It’s almost as good as a punch in the gut, because it mashes every button Jon’s got. “I can be good.”

And oh, Jon should have seen this coming. It really shouldn’t blindside him like this, that Sasha would use his sexuality as a weapon. 

“Don’t do this, Sasha,” and he meant for it to sound more like an order and less like a plea.

“Do what?” Sasha asks, pressing himself backward into Jon’s grip until they’re plastered against each other, not a breath between them, and it only takes a subtle flex of spine for Sasha to rub right up against his cock. 

“This,” says Jon, and forces both his hands forward and down, pins them against the horse so that Sasha is literally bent over for him. “You’re gonna hate yourself for it later, and I’m not doing this to Justin.”

“Always the knight in shining armor,” Sasha spits over his shoulder, and grinds back into Jon’s body in a way that leaves neither of them doubting how hard Jon’s getting. For a minute, Jon leans into it, lets himself feel and remember, then he slams Sasha forward so hard he’s pretty sure there will be bruises, and by the time Sasha recovers his balance he’s stepped safely away.

“If you’re not back in the hotel in half an hour, I’m sending Justin after you,” he says. “That should give you time for a shower.” Sasha’s leaning back against the horse and still panting when Jon turns away. He can hear the sound of hands hitting the pommel again even before he’s out of the gym. 

*

“Well, well, well. Golden boy.” Jon cracks one eye open, and lets his head fall back to hit the mat. He didn’t need this. Of all the times for Sasha to pick, he really, really didn’t need this. He wants to sit here and contemplate his sad second position in peace.

“Go away,” he says, but both of them know it won’t work. Sasha sits down by his head instead and looks up at the high bar above them. It’s barely visible, glowing blue in the faint light that the security lamps provide.

“At least the cameras don’t seem to know you got silver. I think even Shawn granted you her media darling crown tonight, princess.”

“Seriously, Sasha, fuck off.”

“What can I say, the pressure was on and Mr. Perfect hit again.” 

“Can’t you go bother someone else?”

Sasha’s laugh has edges sharp enough to tear skin. “And miss the chance to bask in your reflected glow?”

There are lines around Jon’s patience, and Sasha just crossed one. “Goddamn it, Sasha – “ Jon starts, jerking up and tackling Sasha to the mat, then sitting on his stomach to prove his victory. For about five seconds it feels good, but then he notices the wild light in Sasha’s eye. Sasha _wants_ this, and the knowledge hits Jon like a two-by-four, so hard that it doesn’t occur to him not to say something out loud.

“You want this,” he says, the words bypassing his brain-mouth filter. They both freeze when they hear it, and Jon narrows his eyes down at Sasha. “You do, don’t you?”

Sasha goes crazy under him, squirming and trying to escape, but Jon plants his knees on Sasha’s thighs and waits him out. When he finally gets tired of struggling, Jon brackets his wrists and raises them deliberately above Sasha’s head, pinning him. 

“You want somebody to make you do this,” Jon ventures, and knows he’s right by the way Sasha snarls at him. “Why?”

Another round of struggling ensues, and Sasha nearly wins this one, but for Jon’s superior leverage. Still, Sasha bucks once when Jon doesn’t expect it, and Jon lands with one forearm hard across his throat. The breath explodes out of Sasha and his eyes go wide, hands clawing at his throat like they could draw in oxygen. 

“Whoa, whoa.” Jon eases up, trying not to do any more damage. “It’s okay, calm down.” Sasha’s eyes are growing steadily more panicked, as he gasps for air and can’t draw any. “ _Sasha_ ,” Jon says, and puts every ounce of importance and command into it that he can. “Calm down. You can breathe, you’ve just got to do it lightly, okay? Come on, count to four for me. Breathe in,” and Jon counts out four before he lets Sasha breathe out again. When the situation is back under control, Sasha breathing in light gasps, Jon sits back on his heels and studies the boy beneath him.

“It’s the pressure, isn’t it?” Jon says, not even sure that Sasha is listening. “You like it when somebody can make you do things, and you don’t have to think about it, there’s no pressure.”

“Shut up,” Sasha says, voice hoarse and raspy. 

“No,” says Jon, grinning with the rush of discovery. “I don’t think I will.” Instead he leans forward again, and this time runs his thumbs deliberately up Sasha’s neck, giving him a chance to say no before Jon adds any weight to the touch. When Sasha just goes more still beneath him, Jon rocks a little weight into his thumbs, cutting off Sasha’s air incrementally.

“Breathe in,” he murmurs, and gives Sasha a chance to take a deep breath before leaning in enough to completely cut off his air. He can feel Sasha trying to breathe, but he doesn’t let up. “Justin won’t do this for you, will he? He won’t take that tension off for you, doesn’t know how.” He lets off the pressure again, and Sasha gasps in more air. Jon lets his breathing equalize, ease and go steady again before leaning back in with another, “Take a deep breath.”

Sasha’s eyes are soft and willing, and he doesn’t fight when Jon presses down again. There’s a lot of trust there; they might have been yelling at each other earlier, but now Sasha is trusting Jon with his air supply, trusting that Jon won’t hurt him. It’s a power trip and a half. 

“Justin can’t take that kind of control from you, can he?” Jon asks gently, a rhetorical question, because Sasha can’t really talk past the thumbs at his throat. “Okay,” and he lets up the pressure again, feels Sasha’s chest fill beneath him. 

He scoots back a little while Sasha is concentrating on steadying his lungs. From here, he can feel that Sasha’s hard for this. It might hurt his pride some to get pinned and held down, but his body certainly gets off on it. For his part, Jon’s been aching ever since Sasha went compliant under him. Still…

“Listen to me,” Jon says, and he’s got Sasha’s full attention, pliable and willing beneath him, breathing easily now. “I can do this for you. I know you get off on it, and if you _need_ this I can do it and I’ll enjoy it. But not like this. You need to have a talk with Justin first.”

It almost kills him to get up and walk away, but he does, because he’s been a decent person all his life, and he’s not going to stop now. Sasha is still staring up at the high bar when Jon glances back over his shoulder, just before the gym door shuts behind him.

The next morning, he finds a note pushed under his door. _Thanks._ It might not be from Sasha, it could be from any number of people, but Jon’s gut feels a little better about doing the right thing anyway.

*

It takes two days before he finds Justin in his room, sitting on the bed when Jon comes back from doing a load of laundry. The place smells a little like tequila, and Jon may be from Texas but he’s never put anything in his mouth that shared a bottle with a decomposing worm, so he knows that Justin’s not entirely sober.

“He talked to me,” is Justin’s opening gambit, thrown out while Jon is toeing off his shoes next to the closet. 

“What?” Maybe it’s a little disingenuous, but Jon needs to be perfectly clear on what they’re talking about here if he’s going to do this with a clean conscience.

Justin rolls his eyes. “Sasha,” he says, in a tone that slides a _don’t play dumb_ under the word. “He told me you’d offered to…” Jon raises an eyebrow. “To top him,” Justin finishes.

“Did he.”

“He said it was something he needed.”

Jon doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he concentrates on the freshly washed arm wraps he’s rolling. Justin doesn’t say anything else either, both of them thinking about it.

“He picked fights with me twice in the past week,” Jon says finally, because the whole silence thing is getting awkward.

Justin nods. “He gets in these moods.”

“I pinned him to the mat.” Justin pales, but to his credit doesn’t look away. “I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it before, but he gets quiet when you pin him. I think it’s a control thing. He puts so much pressure on himself that it’s a relief to have somebody else take control.” There’s a muscle in Justin’s jaw that might snap if it gets much tighter, but he still doesn’t say anything. “It didn’t go any farther than that,” Jon says, because Justin deserves that kind of reassurance and in the mood that Sasha’s been in, Jon’s not sure Sasha would have told him. “I just pinned him, that’s all. I told him if he wanted more, he’d have to have it out with you.”

“I thought about it,” says Justin. Jon’s finished the arm wraps and moved on to folding training shorts by the time he speaks, but it’s actually sooner than Jon was expecting. “I just… I don’t think I can. I mean, I want him,” and there’s residual heat in his eyes just from the words. Jon takes note, but tries not to let anything show on his face. “But I can’t do that,” Justin finishes.

“So what now?” Jon asks, because there’s got to be a point to this.

“I told him to do what he wants,” Justin whispers, suddenly very interested in a thread on the hotel sheets. It’s not pretty to watch a friend fall apart like this, so Jon doesn’t look.

“Justin. I’m not going to do this unless you’re okay with it. I mean, if he comes to me, I can turn him down, I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Don’t.” It’s part command but mostly plea, and Justin gets up and walks out of the room before Jon can say anything else.

*

Two hours.

Jon makes a bet with himself and loses, because Sasha actually holds out for five before the knock comes at his door. Jon pulls the sash of his robe tighter and checks the peephole to make sure it’s who he thinks it is before turning off the lights and opening the door.

“Jon –,“ but that’s as far as he gets before Jon jerks him inside and slams him back against the door, biting bruising kisses into his mouth. Sasha goes instantly limp, opening for him so that Jon can get closer, deeper into his mouth. Jon shoves a knee between his legs and Sasha whimpers when it grazes his balls, but grinds down gratefully after Jon tugs his head back and searches for the sensitive place just beneath his ear.

Somehow they always end up doing this in the dark, and isn’t that a metaphor if he’s ever heard one. The open window provides more than enough light, and Jon can see that Sasha’s got his eyes closed, which is bad.

“Oh, no,” Jon says, and Sasha’s eyes fly open when Jon jerks him away from the wall, pushes him towards the bed, and rips his shirt off all in one motion. Sasha stumbles, off-balance and more than a little scared when Jon crowds him up against the edge of the bed, hands already falling to the waist of the jeans Sasha’s wearing.

“Wait,” Sasha mutters, and reaches for Jon’s wrists. Jon lets have his hands for a moment as a distraction before shoulder-checking him back into the bed. Sasha falls awkwardly and scrambles backwards. Jon restrains him with a hand on his stomach, then leans down, a forearm on either side of Sasha’s head, bracketing him with his body, keeping him closed in. 

“Listen to me,” Jon says, and his voice is a lot calmer than either of them expected, so Sasha stops struggling. “If we do this, it’s your choice. You tell me no, we stop and I walk out. That goes for the whole time. I can be inside you and if you say no, I’ll leave. I’m not going to promise that I won’t hurt you, and I’m not going to make this easy. But if we do this it will be because you want it, okay?”

Sasha stays quiet for an instant too long and Jon’s afraid he’s about to call the whole thing off, which will be a disaster - for Justin, for the team, and not least of all for Sasha. But just as Jon’s about to lean back, give him an opening to leave, Sasha wiggles just enough to get his arms under him and pushes himself up, kisses Jon on the mouth. “I understand,” he breathes over Jon’s lips, then melts back into the bed and raises his arms above his head, very deliberately crossing his wrists. It’s the same position Jon had pinned him in back under the high bar, and Jon’s never seen anything hotter in his life. 

“Then get your pants off,” Jon growls in his direction, already looking away to strip down to boxers himself. When he looks back up, Sasha’s completely naked and laying back in the bed, waiting for him. Jon crawls back up and settles on top of him. There’s one more formality to get out of the way. “I need you to tell me what you’ve done before. Has anybody fucked you?” Sasha nods. “When was the last time?” 

“Two nights ago.”

“Okay. Have you ever been tied up?” A pause, then Sasha shakes his head. No. Jon regrets for a moment that the hotel bed’s headboard doesn’t have any bars. Maybe when they get back to the States, if he hasn’t scared Sasha off by then. “Okay. What’s the most you’ve ever taken from a partner before?”

“What do you mean?” Jon tilts his hips enough to rub their cocks together just because he can feel Sasha’s heart racing under him. 

“I mean, what’s the most you’ve ever taken? Somebody’s cock, three fingers, a fist?” 

Sasha’s breathing goes soft and sweet. “Justin’s cock. That’s probably the most I’ve ever taken.”

“Okay,” Jon repeats, because he’s not here to judge, and he’s not here to get jealous. Instead he slowly fists his hands in Sasha’s hair, clenching them until he knows he’s pulling. Sasha squirms under him to relieve the pressure. 

“Touch yourself,” Jon says, not letting up on him yet. “I want you to jerk yourself off for me, and I don’t want you to stop until I tell you to.”

He sits back, reaches over to where he’d stashed some supplies just after Justin left, and grabs for the bottle of lube. When he looks back, Sasha’s watching him and wearing a smirk. He hasn’t moved at all. Jon rolls his eyes; of all the battles to fight, why pick this one?

“Fine,” he growls, and grabs for Sasha’s wrist. He’s had some training, he knows enough anatomy to make this work. His fingers find the nerve on the inside of the wrist and grind it against the bone; Sasha bites his lip white in an effort not to cry out. Jon uses the sudden lack of resistance to draw Sasha’s hand down his own body, wrap his limp fingers around his cock. When he lets up the pressure on that nerve, Sasha obeys him, and strokes himself slowly.

Jon pushes his legs apart, far apart, and seats himself between Sasha’s thighs. The tendon just under his groin is pulled out taut by the stretch in his legs, and Jon runs his thumb up it, enjoying the way the skin goes soft and hairless as he gets closer to Sasha’s balls. He’d do this all night if he didn’t think Sasha would fight him on it, but he’s not here for his own needs, and one glance at Sasha’s face, open and scared and desperate, is enough to put his head back into the game.

He starts out with three fingers, no warning, no prep, just pushes hard and trusts that his forearms are strong enough to make the move effective. It rips a groan that’s edging towards a scream out of Sasha’s mouth, and Jon can feel his whole body tremble around his hand. It’s okay, he’s got time, and he waits until Sasha’s calmed down some before he pulls them out, adds more lube, and works more slowly back in. 

Sasha likes it, it’s not hard to see, evident in the way he jerks himself lighter and less fluidly, not really concentrating on his cock any more. Jon lets him get used to three fingers, then places one hand in the center of his stomach, carefully folds his pinky under, and watches Sasha’s face when he works four inside him. 

Sharp, shallow pants and closed eyes are the reaction he gets, teeth sunk deep into his lower lip, and that’s not exactly what Jon wants. “No,” he says, and Sasha’s eyes fly open. “Don’t bite your lip,” Jon says. “I want to hear you.”

“But –,”

“You were gonna give me control, remember?” Jon punctuates this statement with a hard shove, not being gentle any more, giving in and really fucking Sasha. He gets a shocked gasp as a reward, and a throaty groan when he holds his fingers deep and twists. Sasha’s legs are moving involuntarily, and that’s closer to what Jon wants, but it’s not quite there yet; Sasha’s still too stuck in his own head to do what Jon wants next. 

Since Sasha’s pretty much forgotten that he’s supposed to be jerking himself off, Jon reaches up with his free hand and wraps it around the base of Sasha’s cock. Sasha likes it hard and fast, with a slight twist toward the end to skate his palm across the head. Jon gives him as much as he can, works out a rhythm between the fingers inside and the hand on his cock, and is rewarded when Sasha throws his head back, eyes closed. He makes gorgeous noises like this, little broken gasps and desperate snarls. Jon’s hard as a rock just from hearing him; give him long enough and he could probably come just from the way Sasha reacts to practically having Jon’s hand up his ass. He varies things a little until he finds a tempo that has Sasha shoving down into his fingers, spine a sinuous flex, rippled muscles along his stomach and across his ribs. 

Jon takes a slow forever just to finger him, working up to the brink then backing off, waiting until he can push just a little bit higher, break him just a little more apart. Sasha’s on the verge of orgasm yet again, balls tight and cock heavy, when Jon stops touching him there and reaches for the lube, adding more to the hand that still has fingers inside. Sasha thrusts up helplessly, looking for friction, and when he doesn’t get any he glances down, eyes blown out and unfocused. Jon meets that gaze, because that’s what he’s been waiting for. “You can still tell me no, and I’ll stop,” Jon says, and Sasha blinks, tries to figure out what he’s talking about. 

Jon doesn’t give him a chance to get too much more focused. Instead, he tucks his thumb in against his fingers and applies slow, steady pressure to the next thrust. He’d love to watch, because seeing Sasha take his hand might be the single hottest thing he can _imagine_ , but right now that’s a luxury he can’t afford. Instead, Jon’s eyes stay glued to Sasha’s face, so that he doesn’t miss the moment Sasha understands. His eyes go wide then roll back, and his lungs quake and refuse to take in as much air as he needs. Jon slows the penetration down even more, just barely working in, very little pressure.

“Breathe in,” he says, and talks through slow deep breaths until the danger is past, until Sasha’s not going to stroke out on him for this. He’s not quite at the widest part of his hand yet, just before the knuckles, and he knows there’s no way this next part can be easy. 

“I need you to trust me,” he says quietly, because he’s asking for a lot here and he knows it. Sasha squeezes his eyes shut and nods. “Pull two pillows behind your head and lean up. I want you to watch me.”

For a moment he’s not sure that Sasha’s with it enough to get the coordination together to obey, but then Sasha reaches up and manages to prop himself up on two pillows. His eyes meet Jon’s and they’re still not completely focused, he’s not completely in his head still, which is perfect as far as Jon’s concerned. “Breathe in,” Jon whispers, “and out.” Halfway through the exhalation, when Sasha’s body is as relaxed as he can get it, Jon pushes and puts enough force behind it to fit the rest of his hand inside.

Sasha’s eyes go wide then squeeze closed and he lets out a breathy, aborted keening noise. Jon freezes. “You can still tell me no,” he whispers, but Sasha shakes his head frantically and grits out, “Yes. Fuck, don’t stop.”

That’s all the permission Jon needs, and he shifts carefully over to Sasha’s side, making sure to keep his hand as still as possible. Instead he stretches out beside him, then gently turns Sasha’s face towards his own and opens his mouth over Sasha’s, not conscious enough to really be a kiss. Instead they breathe together, and Jon does his level best to let his body fall into the rhythm Sasha’s is setting for him. When Sasha opens his eyes and licks out over Jon’s lower lip, that’s his cue. He twists his hand subtly, just enough to grind his knuckles squarely over Sasha’s prostate. It instantly sends Sasha’s whole body tense, head back, mouth open, ass vice-tight around Jon’s wrist. 

Jon repeats the motion, works as gently as he knows how to keep Sasha on that knife-edge of sensation for as long as he can. Time stretches out into long, long minutes and Jon watches the pain leach out of Sasha’s face, feels him relax enough for Jon to work just a few inches in and out of him, not trying to pull his hand out, just enough to give him friction. Sasha melts into deep-held sighs and little twitches of hips that beg for more pressure, and Jon pays as close attention as he knows how. 

Very slowly, Sasha’s noises get more desperate, and when he’s trembling and begging wordlessly, face buried against Jon’s neck, Jon gives in. “Come on,” he whispers, licks over the head of Sasha’s cock, and Sasha comes for him, soft as rain. Jon draws it out as long as he can, working over his prostate to push all the sensations higher, and when Sasha’s body literally can’t take anymore, Jon slips his hand out just when the orgasm starts to subside, while the endorphins are still good enough to keep it from hurting.

He’s so fucking hard it’s painful, but he’s not going to do anything about it, because this was never about him. Instead he crawls back up and pulls Sasha’s body close, folds him up as much as he can and holds him secure. Sasha’s already asleep, worn completely out. Jon glances at the clock, and no wonder Sasha’s tired; it’s over three hours since he first walked into this room, and they didn’t spend long on talking. 

He’s not too sure what the etiquette for this will be in the morning, but right now he’s too weary and aching to care. He’s glad the event finals are over, because he’s pretty sure his arm is going to kill him tomorrow for spending so long holding it at an awkward angle. Maybe he’ll take a week off of bars to let his wrist recuperate. 

Sasha smells like sweat and a little like laundry detergent in his arms. Jon times his breaths to the rise and fall of Sasha’s back, stubbornly ignores his cock, and lets himself slide sideways into sleep.

*

They don’t see each other for a month when they get back to the States. Jon’s pretty sure he fucked up but good. For all that he was determined to take over the team leadership mantle from Paul, he’s pretty sure this is a situation Paul never got himself into. He’s actually surprised when Sasha agrees to do the Tour thing, and wonders how much Disney had to offer to convince him it was worth being in the same state as Jon for three months. The figures his brain supplies are kind of depressing.

Which is why no one is more surprised than Jon when he walks back into his hotel room the second night on tour and finds Sasha sitting on the end of his bed, waiting for him.

“So Golden Boy, you get enough camera flash tonight? I mean, I think there might be a teenaged girl in the tri-state area that somehow missed you, you might want to check on that.” Sasha’s smirk is bright enough to light up Las Vegas. 

Jon blinks at him, dumbfounded. 

“You look kind of like a fish when you gape like that,” says Sasha helpfully.

Jon growls and pushes the door shut with one foot. 

“One thing,” says Sasha, suddenly serious. “I have to be able to perform tomorrow night.”

Jon stares at him, then shifts his eyes a millimeter to the left to note the heavy wrought iron headboard on the bed.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “No promises.” Sasha settles back, smiling like a whole school of sharks, and seems strangely okay with that.


End file.
